


Arm Yourself

by Heather_Night



Series: You Know My Name [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Peter Hale, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: “We’ve had a change of plans.  Electra broke her leg so we’re subbing someone in for her,” Lydia announced.  Peter adjusted the volume on his near invisible earpiece so no one would hear her side of the conversation.Lydia’s news was not well received.  Kira was supposed to distract the mark with her klutzy cute charm while Peter lifted and cloned his phone.  Kira was perfect for this role.  With her unable to fulfill her duties that begged the question of whom was subbing for her.“Tell me,” Peter growled.“Relax, Halestorm,” Lydia replied.  “I’ve got you covered.”





	Arm Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Things of note in this story...non consensual drugging, some language and innuendo (Gerard comes across as a bit of a dirty old man in this one).
> 
> This is part two in a five-part spy 'verse.

“Halestorm, do you copy?” the lilting voice in Peter’s ear piped up. It was the incomparable Lydia Martin, his handler for this assignment.

Peter pulled out his iPhone and spoke into it instead of the watch that doubled as a transmitter. This way the people around him wouldn’t think he was a) a douchebag, talking at everyone within earshot, or b) an unbalanced person hearing voices and also answering them. Technology was all well and good but if no one in the public knew he was using a hidden device it was quite possible he’d be arrested or carted off for a psych evaluation. “Yes, Pepper. What can I do for you?” 

Pepper Potts was Lydia’s codename. Peter wasn’t certain if she grumbled on principle or if she really abhorred the codename. He used it every opportunity he got because there was little in life as satisfying as pushing the buttons of those around him.

“We’ve had a change of plans. Electra broke her leg so we’re subbing someone in for her,” Lydia announced. Peter adjusted the volume on his near invisible earpiece so no one would hear her side of the conversation.

Lydia’s news was not well received. Kira was supposed to distract the mark with her klutzy cute charm while Peter lifted and cloned his phone. Kira was perfect for this role. With her unable to fulfill her duties that begged the question of whom was subbing for her.

“Tell me,” Peter growled.

“Relax, Halestorm,” Lydia replied. “I’ve got you covered. Now smile, your dinner companion has arrived.”

Peter slid his iPhone into his pocket and looked up to see Gerard Argent approaching his table.

Rising to his feet, Peter went through the motions of welcoming the man, shaking his hand and getting him settled comfortably in the overpriced dining room chair across from him.

Peter studied the white haired man. Gerard Argent was a youthful looking 68 year old; it was apparent in the spring in his step as well as the twinkle in his hazel eyes.

“So, Mr. Hunt, I’m pleased to meet you at last,” Argent said.

“Oh, please, call me Peter.” Peter ought to be grateful they hadn’t landed him with the moniker Ethan Hunt a la _Mission Impossible_ but he couldn’t help but think the crafty older man was on to him.

“And you shall call me Gerard,” his opponent rejoined. It wasn’t an invitation or a suggestion—it was a command. At least his response was consistent with the research Peter had done on him.

Less then sixty seconds had lapsed before their server approached the table. Peter internally nodded to himself; promptness always set the tone for the meal service and at a place like this, the service should be impeccable.

“Hello, my name is Jamie and I will be your waiter this evening,” a low, smoky voice that Peter knew well, smoothly interjected.

Little Red Riding Hood aka Stiles Stilinski stood before them. The white button down shirt clung lovingly to his wide shoulders and tucked into his black pants, emphasized his trim waist. The young man had an extraordinary body but Peter didn’t want that body in harm’s way.

Peter had done everything in his power to hide both his attraction and his overprotective urges when it came to his younger coworker so being paired with him on an assignment was a huge distraction. A distraction he couldn’t afford if he was going to complete his mission and Peter took pride in his 100% clearance rate.

“May I offer you a cocktail?” Stiles said. No, not Stiles, Jamie. Peter needed to get his head in the game.

Gerard swiveled his chair so he could cross his legs. He leaned an elbow on the table and perched his chin on a fist and stared at Jamie. “Tell me Jamie, are you interested in cock?” the white haired gentleman paused, his attention wandering lazily over the server’s frame, lingering on the young man’s crotch. A blood-red apron demurely covered that part of Stiles’s—Jamie’s—anatomy but that didn’t keep Gerard from staring hungrily in that direction.

His coworker shifted his weight from one foot to another, his nervousness easily telegraphed via his body language.

His mark seemed thrilled with the effect his words and actions had on the young man and he laughed. Peter expected to see amusement in the older man’s eyes but it was more that of a hunter sizing up his prey.

“Please forgive me, I meant to say cocktail. Do you like cocktails, young man?” Gerard continued to stare steadily at the server.

“I, uh,” Stiles—Peter had given up on trying to think of him as Jamie and vowed not to speak his name so he wouldn’t blow his cover—hesitated, licking his lips. The anxiety emanating from the younger man was palpable. 

Gerard threw back his head and gave a full laugh. “Relax, I’m just fucking with you. I’d like a Dalmore 18 year single malt. Neat. Peter?”

“I think I’ll join you, thank you Gerard,” Peter said. He couldn’t stand Scotch but sometimes bonding through alcohol was necessary.

Stiles scribbled on a pad of paper, made a slight bow, and gave a strangled response with that sweet, sexy voice of his. “I’ll be right back in a moment, gentleman.” 

“I wonder if young Jamie is on the menu.” Gerard swiveled his chair back to face Peter, all signs of amusement wiped from his face. Instead Peter found a cold, calculating look in its place.

Peter’s phone pinged an incoming message and he surreptitiously glanced at it. It was a vague update regarding a business merger and Gerard reached across the table, plucking Peter’s iPhone out of his hand.

“Oh, are you involved in this merger? It was quite ballsy to take on a conglomerate like this one.” Gerard set the phone down on the table.

Perhaps Peter should be outraged but the closer his phone was to Gerard’s the quicker the cloning would occur.

“I might have had a hand in it,” Peter demurred. 

Gerard rummaged around in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The man withdrew his own iPhone but set it on his other side, away from Peter’s. His opponent left one hand on the table and tucked his other hand in his lap out of view. 

Stiles arrived with a tray bearing two NEAT Whiskey Glasses. Each glass was formed to funnel the peaty aroma right into the nostrils to intensify the alcohol fumes although why that was necessary as Scotch smelled like paint thinner anyway was a mystery to Peter.

The wily older man picked up his iPhone and snapped a picture of Stiles. The other agent was so busy in his server role Peter didn’t think he noticed. Peter noticed and raised an eyebrow at the other man. Argent smiled wolfishly before he did something with his phone, perhaps having to do with the picture, and then turned his full attention to the young man.

Setting a glass down in front of Gerard, Stiles said, “Here you go, sir.”

Gerard withdrew the hand in his lap and latched on to Stiles’s wrist as he set the drink in front of him. Peter was amazed at the amount of audacity the man was displaying. Taking his phone. Taking a picture of Stiles. Grabbing on to Stiles…what was going on here?

“Sir?” Stiles whispered, sinking his front teeth into his lush lower lip, the whiteness of the enamel showing brightly against the natural pink flesh.

The older man squeezed his hand around Stiles’s rather dainty wrist until Stiles’s hissed and tugged at his limb. Gerard let go, reluctantly, smiling up brightly at the server. “You have remarkably attractive hands. Long sensitive fingers and despite your size, your wrists are quite slim.”

Argent’s phone signaled an incoming text and the older man glanced at it before nodding approvingly.

Stiles set Peter’s drink down, flashing a hesitant smile. The young agent remained quiet, side eying Argent, and this seemed to please the older man.

For the first time since the young man approached the table, Peter had a good view of his face and it was a good thing he was trained to remain impassive when the situation called for it. Someone, most likely Lydia, had ringed Stiles’s large eyes with kohl, giving him a rather doe-like appearance. No wonder Gerard was sniffing around the kid, hunter stalking his deer. The question seemed to be what the older man would do if he caught his quarry.

“Shall I bring the menus?” Stiles offered.

Gerald inexplicably jerked his hand out, sweeping his silverware to the floor.

Stiles went on bended knee to retrieve the cutlery and Gerald swiveled his chair so that the server had to reach between the older man’s spread legs to retrieve it. 

The sudden movement startled the young server—a highly trained agent although Peter had to admit he was as mesmerized by Stiles’s act—and he would’ve overbalanced backward if Gerald hadn’t shot a hand out to steady him.

Peter remembered Lydia’s recounting of Stiles’s super power—the ability to sell a lie. He knew the young man and despite that, even Peter was being taken in by the act of vulnerable server.

Stiles smiled gratefully up at Gerard and the old man seemed completely smitten. 

His balance having been restored, Stiles pushed to his feet. He wavered in place, the color receding from his face. 

“Steady, young man.” Gerard swept his phone back into his jacket pocket before he rose to his feet, hands lightly clutching at Stiles’s biceps.

“I,” Stiles swallowed convulsively and then shook his head as though trying to clear it of cobwebs, “I apologize, I seem to be a little dizzy.”

The words were mildly slurred and Peter wondered what the hell was going on until he saw Gerard bury a grin beneath a worried visage. “Come along, let’s get you some fresh air.”

Peter wasn’t sure when he had climbed to his feet but he hovered nearby. Gerard solicitously wrapped an arm around Stiles’s back and guided him away from the table. “I’ll be right back, Hunt.”

His mark, along with the prized cell phone, drifted across the restaurant. Peter’s personal prize, the delectable young agent, was steered out of sight as well.

Usually when on a mission Peter had a clear idea of how to execute what he needed to do but Stiles’s presence had distracted him just as he’d always feared.

“Halestorm, proceed to the rear exit. It appears the mark is absconding with Little Red Riding Hood,” Lydia said in Peter’s ear. The usually unflappable agent displayed signs of stress in the rushed cadence of her delivery.

Scooping up his own iPhone Peter headed toward the rear of the restaurant. He emerged through the exit door slowly, carefully surveilling the area.

To the right he spotted Gerard trying to guide Stiles into his low-slung Jaguar but Stiles’s coltish limbs lacked their usual grace and the older man was having difficulties folding the young man into the passenger seat.

“Parameters?” Peter barked into his watch so Lydia could hear him. 

“Peter,” Lydia began; she only ever addressed him by his codename while on mission so her use of his given name made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Stiles’s vital signs are at dangerous levels. Abort the mission and retrieve our agent.”

The words had barely cleared Lydia’s mouth before Peter sprinted across the parking lot. It was a good thing Lydia had given him permission because there was no way Peter could stand by and watch the young man be kidnapped.

Argent was muttering to himself and Peter made out a few comments: “I gave you too much but I didn’t know you were such a light weight,” followed by, “Duke had better appreciate this.”

Peter wasn’t trying to disguise his approach and Argent heard him coming. His opponent turned, fist raised. Peter’s adrenaline was spiking out of control and he quickly flattened the other man with a flurry of punches and kicks. Violent but it quickly passed, leaving a damaged man laid out on the pavement.

Without someone holding him upright, Stiles’s legs folded like soggy cardboard and he also headed for the pavement. Peter dove down quickly to save Stiles’s head and upper body from crashing into the unforgiving surface like his shins did.

Peter cradled Stiles against his chest. “Stiles? Can you hear me?”

Stiles was heaving for breath, his eyes open to a mere slit. “Mmm?”

It was enough of a sign that Peter’s heart slowed from a gallop to a canter. He climbed to his feet, arm around Stiles’s back and the other below bent knees, holding the precious young man tightly.

For once he would like to do this when Stiles was not lolling in his arms, unconscious. The best-case scenario would be to hold Stiles cradled in his arms as he carried him into the bedroom.

“Paramedics are two minutes out. How is he?” Lydia asked. Her voice was tight with tension.

“Drugged but he’s breathing.” Peter moved toward the sirens pulling into the parking lot.

“Did Argent make Red?” Lydia asked in a subdued voice.

Peter thought back to Argent’s strange comments. “Argent said something about giving Stiles too much and someone named Duke appreciating what he was doing. I might be way off base but I think we stumbled into a human trafficking ring.”

The jaguar peeled past him, nearly ramming into an SUV in its rush to exit the parking lot.

“God damn this day,” Peter bit out.

“What happened?” Lydia snarled.

“I didn’t secure Argent and he just got away.” Peter was disgusted with himself. It was a rookie mistake. He’d been distracted by the condition of his partner on this op.

“We’ll figure it out, Peter.” Lydia’s voice was clipped but she sounded more in control.

Peter surrendered the slight burden in his arms to the waiting paramedics. There was definitely a lot to figure out including what the hell he was going to do about his feelings for Stiles.

-0-

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” Peter was taken aback by the first words out of Stiles’s mouth when he visited the young man in medical the next day.

Upon examination Dr. Deaton had declared the GHB would be out of Stiles’s system in twenty-four hours and had insisted the young agent remain there until then. It gave Peter some small measure of peace knowing Stiles was tucked away safely where no one could get to him.

“Sorry about what, darling?” The endearment slipped out of Peter’s mouth unbidden. 

Fortunately Stiles was too busy berating himself to notice. “I fucked up your 100% clearance rate!”

Peter’s fingers darted forward smoothing the too long fringe away from Stiles’s pretty eyes. Yesterday at the restaurant the younger man’s hair had been styled in what they termed bed head or freshly fucked. Today it lay flat and limp, accentuating Stiles’s lack of color. Those long fingers plucked at the sheets nervously but without energy. The drugs had really done a number on his partner.

Stiles stared up at Peter, eyes wide. “Are you…petting me? And did you just call me darling?” His mouth hung open. On most people this would look ridiculous but Stiles just looked adorable. 

“I am. And I did. Stiles, I would’ve been destroyed if something had happened to you. Forget my clearance rate. You are what’s important.” Peter couldn’t believe the words flying out of his mouth. Perhaps he, too, had been slipped a drug. Who was Peter kidding? It was the sheer anxiety over almost losing someone he cared for, someone who wasn’t even aware of his feelings.

That needed to change. Not only for his own peace of mind but also as well as for his ability to do his job.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut but continued to stare up at Peter. “Who are you and what have you done with Peter Hale? Where is the man who washed me out of the field program? You know the one who was demanding and an asshole?”

“Why, do you miss him? I’m sure I can bring him back for you.” Peter watched Stiles carefully, hoping for a sign his feelings were returned.

“What I’d really like is a hug. Do you think the new Peter Hale could manage that?” Stiles said, voice very small.

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Stiles away from his pillows and against his chest. “You know, there’s a reason I didn’t want you in the field. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. Speaking of which, remind me later to have a chat with Pepper about just why you were out in the field.”

“She asked me to sub for Kira and I didn’t think anything of it. I have some experiencing waiting tables. And thank you for telling me. I think I suspected it wasn’t just my performance that got me kicked out of that program. It just would’ve been nice to hear.” Stiles had buried his face into the side of Peter’s neck. Peter found himself rocking the young man, rubbing a hand up and down his back soothingly.

Being drugged was no fun. “Do you remember anything that happened?” Peter knew Stiles had some anxiety issues in his past and he was worried this mission would cause a setback. An op gone sideways could mentally fuck up even seasoned agents.

“I remember that asshole grabbing my wrist. I felt a little scratch but I kept in role. Then everything gets a little fuzzy.” When Stiles shivered, Peter held him tighter.

“Will you help me, Peter? Lydia told me Argent got away. I think I’d better start carrying again and I’d feel better if I could brush up on some self defense moves.” Stiles sighed against Peter’s bare skin. Peter shivered but it was a different kind of nervous reaction.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. I’ll make sure you’re prepared,” Peter vowed.

Of course Peter planned on staying as close to Stiles as possible. Nothing was going to get to the younger man, not while Peter was there to protect him.

Despite the outcome of the mission, Stiles had proven himself to be a valuable asset to the team. He’d done his part, it was Peter who had failed to execute.

It was a mistake Peter vowed not to repeat.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sticking with the naming convention I started with--all titles in this 'verse are taken from the lyrics within Chris Cornell's _You Know My Name_. Some of them are a bit of a stretch but I made it work. I think.
> 
> The prompt on this outing was Drugged. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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